Out of the Ashes

"I told you that this was going to happen!" I nearly yelled into my phone as I paced in the street in my socks and running gear. The calm and peace of my recent run obliterated with a simple phone call to my attorney after another custody issue. While I could not bring myself to say the words "I told you so" I offered her a version of it, speaking my truth, knowing that the arrangement that was set in July would not work beyond the summer. I stood in my running gear, my mind remembering that morning.

Standing outside a courtroom, my heart pounding, shaking slightly, awaiting an attorney that I had spoken with on the phone, but not yet met in person. My usual attorney unavailable, so a new one for the practice come to represent my and my interests in this ongoing custody battle. My anxiety threatening to skyrocket as I remembered the moments a few months earlier when my world crashed just around the corner from where I currently stood. I breathed slowly, centered on the details upon the wooden door in front of me, and fought to calm myself. As my attorney arrived we smiled and I was boosted by her countenance. In we went, I entered with a small measure of confidence, having been assured that nearly nothing would change with this simple hearing. The officer spoke, the attorneys spoke, I heard snippets, but I also heard a roaring in my ears. It was nearly too much at moments, yet I stayed as calm as I could. Moments of the discussion haunt me; his attorney twisting my actions and my generous nature into something different while my attorney sat there in silence. I managed to stay quiet, knowing that it was not for me to speak to the officer in that moment. It is only now that I regret not saying anything to my attorney.

Into the hallway we went to strategize and come to a "solution" to the custody issue that the court found at hand. I had no issue with the current arrangement, yet with their dad wanting more time there was an issue. Back and forth the attorneys went between us offering ideas. I balked at so many of them, beginning to grow angry and ever more anxious. What was happening? I had been assured on multiple occasions that this would not be happening right now; that I would have had more time before anything changed. I downright laughed at a few suggestions. I told my attorney multiple times that the proposed changes would work for the summer, but that there would be issues come the start of the school year. My voice was not heard, ignored again. Years of experience and failed expectations meaning nothing to the person representing me, nor the court. In defeat I agreed to a plan, it was that or enter the courtroom and let them make a new arrangement without having any input. Back into the courtroom and the officer was pleased we came to an agreement temporarily. It was determined that we would return in a few months to discuss adding even more time before a final court date would be determined. I was defeated, confused and angry.

Leaving the courthouse I shook in anger and disbelief. How did this happen? I regretted my decisions a year ago to try to move to Oregon and find a fresh start. I began to berate myself, thankfully a friend intervened and helped remind me that I was allowed to want a fresh start, to pursue big dreams and goals. There is the possibility that without the propulsion of my relocation bid this custody change may have never occurred but there is no knowing, and with the guidance of friends and someone special they helped me reset and find some temporary peace with the upheaval.

Standing in the street my anger rising at the loss of my voice months earlier I unleashed more of it on the attorney. Document, document, document I was told. He's been given an opportunity and continues to fail at parts of it she tells me. A few weeks later we are repeating this conversation and I am yelling at her, my frustration at its breaking point. It's not fair to the kids, it's not fair to me, and it's in violation of the agreement. I am powerless in the moment to do more than yell and document it all. Documentation in the moment feels futile, sitting and holding space for a time that is months away with nothing that can change in the interim. My needs, the needs of my children feeling as if they have been thrown aside for what feels like a whim, though I know it is not a whim. I know in my heart that their dad loves them, and wants more time with them.

It is my fears, my experiences with him, and watching their experiences with him over the past 6 years being divorced, and then the years prior that have me proactively advocating for them, defending them. For 6 years I have been there nearly every night for them, driven them to practices, picked them up, taken them to the doctor and more. In about 5 years Miss B will graduate high school and my life will be forever changed with them as legal adults and high school graduates. All of this swirls in my head and more as I speak with my attorney, unable to easily voice my concerns and voice them coherently. My children, my crew as I often call them, are a huge part of my world, my goal to raise them to be kind, compassionate humans without a sense of entitlement. I fear what happens to them when they have less time with me during these teenage years when they require more guidance and shaping. The teenage years are a revisiting of the toddler era yet with humans that can speak clearly, and in my case are all taller than me. It is in these years that they work to find their identities and they need enough freedom to explore and experiment, but the safety and security of home with love and boundaries. How do I provide that in the manner that I feel they need when they are with me less? I know that many split families do this constantly, and yet I can't help but challenge against something that feels so inherently wrong for my family.

With a final court date arriving in a month I think about those afternoons spent pacing in the street in my running gear, sans shoes, advocating for myself and my children to my attorney, a mother's passionate plea to adjust things to provide more stability to the 4 humans that I am blessed to call my children. I can see the fear I held, and that I continue to hold. I hear the underlying intense love I have for them, and the protectiveness that so many parents feel for their children. I see a woman finding her voice after being burned to ashes, left with nothing, and doing this out of love, not desperation. I see her acknowledging her fears, her own inadequacies, and yet still finding strength and stones upon which to stand and step to pursue what she believes is best for her family through love and advocacy. There is no phoenix here rising from these ashes, nor a rebirth; there is a woman growing, changing, loving, and fighting with love for herself and her family.

Ashes to Ashes

 A little over 2 months ago my life imploded and crumbled to dust. It was the darkest period of my life, even more dark than periods leading up to my divorce and early post divorce. Anxiety and depression assaulted me daily and I began a course of medications to find some balance. The side-effects of the medications became as much of a problem as the anxiety and depression, and it was one more battle I had to try to find the energy to fight and manage. But this story is not about the medications and effects, this story is about the creation of the ashes of my life.

I had a plan.

I had a plan to move to Bend, Oregon and raise my children in a town that better meets our needs and lifestyle. A town where I feel at home, safe, protected, and at peace. A town that values the outdoors, being active and community and connection. A town that strives to care for its own, and while it is not perfect it is trying, more than I see in so many other communities. I had a job in Bend, I had my non-profit in Bend, my best friend in Bend, and a growing community of friends through my job. I had a plan to move there and continue to grow the non-profit and eventually transition to working that full-time as a paid employee and likely a small job on the side to supplement income as needed. I had a plan to create a lifestyle that supported my physical and mental health in ways that are extremely challenging living in my current community. I had a plan.

Having primary custody of my 4 children does not give me the right to just move them across the country, I had to come to an agreement with their father to move them. In brief he was not agreeable to them moving, thus began a year long legal battle for relocation. On April 20th, the day before my birthday, we all attended court, the children spoke to the judge alone and expressed their opinions which were relayed back to me via my attorney. I found myself in the very real and very painful position of continuing my quest for relocation and likely being denied relocation and primary custody of my children, the only option that was guaranteed was to rescind the relocation request and have the battle for change in custody follow due process through the courts. In 10 minutes I was forced to make a decision: fight for my move and potentially win or potentially lose everything, or give up relocation and keep custody until it could proceed through the court. My heart was breaking, I sat in the courtroom hallway fighting back tears, breathing, shaking, trying to find the decision that met my needs and the needs of my children. This move was for me and for them, and I knew that if we moved it would be incredibly challenging for them, I knew that it would strain our relationship, but I also knew that given time and space to heal and move through it we would do well in the end. Having grown up moving I know the resiliency of children and moving, but also the trauma of it. I sat in the hallway battling in myself, the clock ticking, my heart racing and breaking all at once, torn, watching my world finishing burning into ashes. The last important component of my life fuse lit and burning out. I made the decision to pull my relocation request, I simply couldn't take the risk of not moving and losing primary custody. It would break me further than I was already broken at that point.

Earlier in the month of April I lost my best friend. My best friend of the past 3 years simply decided to stop speaking to me, stop being there for me, stop answering calls, texts, anything. Having been as close as we were and having supported them through so many trials and challenges it was killing me to have lost them, lost their support when I needed it most. I needed that person that simply understood me and grasped that this was more than "just a move." They knew what this meant to me, and understood how deeply important to me it was, and I was abandoned by them without explanation. A fight had been had 2 months previous that had not been resolved, but I had been hoping that we were going to move forward as we had in the past. Every other fight, disagreement, and confrontation we had had over the 3 years we worked through, and we always told each other we worked through it because we cared about each other. I still cared about my best friend and I wanted to work through it, but I also desperately needed that support from them. Support that I had received previously, and I could not, and still cannot understand, why it was withheld. Why, when I needed them the most they abandoned me? Left me, ignored me, triggering so many of my trauma responses I swirled and spiraled more. Court loomed closer, there were challenges with the children and court, my birthday loomed, and the person that I had been closest to for 3 years was missing by their choice. My heart broke, my soul adrift, and I began to crumble, to implode, unable to bear anything more, fire burning throughout.

I struggled to sleep, I struggled to eat. I struggled to get out of bed and get to work at the desk next to my bed. I did it though. I got up slowly, I struggled to focus on my tasks, taking double and triple the time to complete tasks as April wore on with the loss of my best friend and court approaching. With the loss of my best friend also came my resignation from my non-profit. The non-profit that I helped create; the organization that I built from the ground up; from the logo and community and website, that was driven primarily by my effort. It was a passion project, one that I poured my heart and soul into. I was proud of the work I did, it brought me much joy and it was such an honor to be a part of it. Yet the organization was changing and the leadership and I were in conflict and I could no longer stay with an organization that did not value my opinion, my work, my time, and did not appear to believe in open and honest communication anymore. The non-profit was the one thing that I still had hopes of, the one thing that was going to be my light in this time of extreme darkness, and it went away. With the loss of my best friend and my non-profit I crumbled, but had little time to grieve those losses. Medication was not working, therapy was still in place and yet it was still not enough. I was unbearably sad, yet also so numb to everything. My body and mind unable to process anymore hurt. Food was a chore, everything was a challenge, from a simple shower to making dinner. I persevered, the kids were fed, chores completed, and life moved on. I was not ok, yet there was no time, no space to fall apart.

I sat in that courtroom hallway with only a small fuse of life left, having burned away so much with the other losses, and now it burned away my job and my move and my future. Ashes, dust, nothing left, no pieces to make a puzzle. No strength. I am not a phoenix to rise from the ashes. I am a woman, nothing more. One who was incredibly broken, not ok, and yet still asked to carry on, to move forward. To grieve quickly and briefly because it's "only a move" "only a job", yet it was never just those things. It was a lifestyle, a safe place, a peaceful place, and a place that provided comfort in the pine tar and smoke tinged air with the snow capped mountains surrounding the town and the river carrying the heartbeat of the mountains within it. It was gone. My chance removed of my own accord. The sacrifice I made for my children that I did not want to make. I made it because of my deep love of them, but this was one that broke me. In a month I lost my future, my best friend, my safe place, my organization, and so much more. It's challenging to put into words all that was lost. 

I have not grieved it all. It seems impossible at times to grieve it all. Where do you start? How do you portion it out? How do you find the time and space and safety to become vulnerable when you are already dust? How do you share this with the world?

Two months later and I still struggle to find the words, to grieve it. Tears come at times, life is moving forward and there have been some incredible moments over the past 2 weeks and amazing people coming into my life, but I know I have more grieving and healing to do. I do not have a path forward, I do not know where I will be in a few weeks, a few months, much less a few years. It's ok not to have those answers, but there is so much instability that I drift. I am thankful for the people that have become anchors, and the new ones that are supporting me with open hearts and empathy. What a challenging time to come into my life, and yet as has happened before people have arrived in my life at challenging points and made such lasting impacts that I have a small amount of hope blooming again.

There have been more smiles and laugher in my life these past 2 weeks than there have in the past 2 months, for which I am thankful. I see and feel parts of me that seemed to have been lost forever. It is not a return of those parts, but an emergence of new. I do not have a path, I do not have a plan, but I find more moments of strength and courage. In this I can take some comfort, and in knowing that anchors are there for me.

Tomorrow begins the start of the next chapter. Tomorrow their dad begins his battle for joint custody and I have to find the strength, courage, and energy to fight for what I believe is best for my children. What is best for me as well. I am scared, I am terrified, I am exhausted, I am sad. Knowing I have a handful of people supporting me is giving me the strength to proceed and I will. 

As I have said so many times before reach out to your friends, to your family. So much of this story has been withheld, and maybe I will write more on it one-day, but without those people texting me in April, giving me hugs, and calling me I would not be where I am today. Without all of you being there despite me not reaching out or reaching out right before I would have fallen further. My heart has gratitude for all of you for being there, even when I told you I was alone, and you told me I wasn't. Thank you for letting me disagree with you and have the space to move through some of this grief safely. 

Turning 43 in the middle of all of this was not what I wanted, not what I envisioned and again I find myself with trauma on and around my birthday. Six years ago I knew my marriage could not be saved on the weekend of my birthday, a turning point in my life, and here I am with a no plan again coming off of a birthday. I love plans, yet at this point I can do no more than walk through each day, each moment, each breath and let things unfold.

Peace, I pray for peace.